Behind Closed Doors
by btBatt
Summary: What does being a Guardian really mean? You can't literally guard children 24-7 with an assault rifle. You can't save everyone and you can't interfere. (Rated T for child abuse and suggested rape.)
1. Lost Dreams

The sun was an hour below the low-laying, hilly horizon, and the stars were just beginning to appear through the blackening sky. Starkly contrastable to the dark and eerie night were the glittering golden tendrils venting through the windows and wafting above the streets gently. Forming fantasies borne of young and curious minds. Mostly indistinct swirls occupied the air, few forming coherent dream plots so soon.

Two figures, as paradoxical to one another as the glowing snakes through the bleakness, danced above the town. A boy, tall for his age and unbelievably thin, with a washed-out crop of hair splayed about in the wind he rode. Jack Frost's mischievously piercing blue eyes followed the Sandman below, short and stout and lustrous as he spun like a top through house after house.

It was that time of year between winter and spring, when the ground hadn't yet thawed out—despite the warm weather of daytime—due to the nightly frost that came as the moon rose. Jack would have to bid the region farewell soon, at least until fall, but for the last couple of weeks he and Sandy had settled into a comfortable routine. The Sandman arrived just as the sun set, and Jack followed on a North wind with the moon.

It's more of an unspoken agreement between the two. Even though Jack was now a Guardian, he was still alone most of the time. North and Bunnymund holed up in their separate realms most of the year, and Tooth was busy managing her fairies. Sandy though, he was out, _himself, _every night. And so was Jack. They'd meet up and make some rounds together as long as it was convenient for the both of them. More often than not, it was only an hour or so, but Jack appreciated the company.

Frost was a wanderer. Any child, whether they believed in his existence or not, could tell you that. North and Tooth and even Bunny—though reluctantly—had offered him permanent residence with them, and though Jack politely declined, he agreed to visit in their offseasons. While he was alone a lot of the time, it was nice to stop by and see the others. He _had _to, or he started to think that he'd been dreaming. Two years and it was still surreal to him.

A granulated wing brushed against his shoulder, dragging Jack back to the chimney he rested against. He blinked a couple of times, dreary from the sand's touch, and cast his eyes around the town. No sign of Sandman. Suddenly alerted, Jack leapt from the rough fiberglass underfoot to the air and looked around frantically. The other Guardians never worried about anything, it seemed. Of course, the glass went two ways, and they all thought Jack was paranoid. They said he was a neophyte, that he'd calm with time. Becoming a Guardian as Pitch was launching his campaign had left its mark, especially where the Sandman was involved. Guilt still hung over Jack's head from time to time with what he'd allowed to happen to his friend, and he liked to know he was safe. This wasn't the first time panic wracked his frame like shivers no longer could, but it would lift as soon as he rounded a corner and Sandy would be there, spinning magic sand in his hands above a child's bed, a whimsical smile on his mute lips.

Jack was swept over block after block on a soft gale, no sign of the Sandman. He rose even higher, to a bird's eye view, and clutched his staff tightly as his head swiveled desperately. His anxieties lessened as he saw a glowing orb near a window on the very outskirts of the small city. The slim spirit dove for it and noticed the radiance was less than normal, meaning that Sandy was trying to be discreet. _Meaning, _that whoever he was watching through the window was awake. Jack's feet touched the side of the roof and instantly froze to the siding as he tried to gaze through the window without frosting it over, a curious expression displayed across his features.

It was a girl and her father.

She was no more than seven, with disheveled ebony hair and a flushed face. The child wore a flowery dress despite the sharp edge to the air, and looked like a doll someone had thrown in the corner and forgotten about.

And she looked _terrified._ Even as Jack watched, she took a step back, hands inching upward defensively.

The man who could only be her father (or a very older brother, or an uncle, but father just seemed right) took a matching step forward, an angry and menacing sneer contorting his face. He said something about how many times would he have to tell her? Why couldn't she just remember? The girl spit a phrase back at him, but Jack missed the words exactly, he was too busy being proud of the way she took a step forward, squaring her shoulders and balling up her fists. He made a small 'cha-_ching_' motion in the air and turned to share a smile with Sandy. The Guarding wasn't smiling; his ears looked like they were drooping, in fact. Like a dog's might. Had he processed a tail, it would have been between his legs.

Baffled, Jack turned back to the glass just in time to see the man's massive hand propel forward and strike the porcelain cheek like thunder. By the time the doll-kid picked herself up and looked back at her father after repeated threats ("Look at me. Look at me _now! _Or so help me God…") blood was trickling from the corner of her mouth and dripping from her chin.

She backed up again, this time all the way to the corner where she slid to the floor. When she didn't respond to threats, he stormed over and drug her up by the collar of her dress.

Jack looked back to the Sandman. His eyes were narrowed, but his gaze was slightly averted and he looked resigned.

_Why the hell wasn't he doing something?_

Jack nudged his friend's shoulder. When the golden eyes reluctantly met the intense blue, Jack motioned indoors and voiced his question. Slowly, Sandy shook his head defeatedly, not wanting to even attempt to explain in pictures. Instead, he gently pulled on Jack's hoodie sleeve and tried to get him to follow him away from the house.

"_Do _something," Jack insisted instead, shaking him off.

The mute sighed, and shook his head for a second time.

"But—" Jack was cut off as a whimper interrupted him. His eyes quickly found the pair inside. The father said something about the bedroom…no, scratch that, about the bed itself. And then there was something about 'daddy's little girl' and 'show you to respect me,' and he was dragging a crying, screaming, pleading girl off to the wooden door.

After another pleading look was shot at Sandy, it became evident to Jack that he was unwilling to help, Jack threw the window open thrust himself across the room, straight for the man's throat.


	2. Charades

**A/N: Eep! People read it! I mean, they actually **_**read **_**it! (in case you couldn't tell, this is the first fanfiction I've actually never written) I can't thank everyone enough for reading and reviewing! I'm not exactly sure how long this is going to be, so. ENJOY!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Rise of the Guardians. Or Jack or Sandy. **

The Sandman crouched above an unconscious Jack Frost, worrying his hands and unsure of what to do. He briefly entertained the idea of taking him to another one of the Guardians, one who would have a much less trying time explaining matters to him. Maybe after he woke up, but not while he was so fired up. Jack possessed the unbridled passion that only a child could, and he was the only Guardian whose emotions dictate his powers—not to mention the weather. Left in a rage is how a new ice age could come about. Sandy dully noted the gray masses swirling overhead: snow clouds.

An unforeseen or sudden blizzard could trap people in their homes or strand cars on the highway. It wouldn't do any good for the impish winter spirit either, earning him only quips about his (lack of) responsibility from Bunnymund, well-meaning lectures from North, and those deeply cutting looks of disapproval from Toothiana.

Sandy touched down on the ground and put his hand against Jack's shoulder, rousing him into a violent and short-lived fit of thrashing. His eyes opened wide in confusion and the unintelligible fear of waking up on a cement roof in night. The short man put his free hand on his friend's other shoulder and held him firmly.

Jack Frost's eyes narrowed to The Sandman's placid gaze, and then he began to glower as a sand picture appeared above his head: a small roaring flame of gold and a fire extinguisher sweeping at the licking blaze.

"Cool it?" Jack echoed. "Don't give me that, Sandy," he mumbled with pursed lips and swept a hand through the image to distort it. "I was working on that." The boy's insidious grin slid through the air like a dagger with a glint.

Back at the little girl's house, Jack _had _in fact leapt for the man. He'd gone right through him, of course, this wasn't Burgess. The window flew open behind him, startling the temporal pair with spring-time sleet. Even though he'd barely had the time to hastily freeze a solid coating of ice over the dread-inducing door before Sandy's sand crept up from behind, the other Guardian not daring to enter the wakeful family's home.

Recalling the events from before he dropped like a brick only made Jack angry all over again. Fuming, Jack stood and picked up his staff from where it lay on the rooftop beside him, and there was a beat of silence as he waited for his portly friend to explain himself. When the only moves made by the Sandman were to hoist himself back into the air and a sand picture of a skull and crossbones with icicles hanging from them, Jack shivered.

"Jeez, are you the Guardian of dreams or nightmares?" he asked, an expression close to amusement flashing across his features as he leaned against his staff, still a bit drowsy from the sleep sand. He understood the other perfectly. He thought Jack would've killed that…guy. Guy was wrong, that _monster. _Sandy thought Jack would've killed that monster. Jack knew perfectly well though that he wasn't a killer, especially not in front of little girls, and not even when someone deserved it. But…

But had he known that as he jumped for him? What exactly had he been about to do? Jack wasn't precisely sure how to answer, and his grudge thawed and melted away with a defeated sign. At least, he wasn't so angry at the sleep spirit anymore.

"Okay…" he allowed, nodding to himself as his gaze wandered to the waxing crescent moon over the hills. "What would you have done, Little Man?"

Excited to be asked his opinion—that didn't actually happen a lot, since nobody could understand him—he raised his hands and started gesturing. After a moment he realized he didn't truly know what to say, and his face fell, his shoulders slouched, and he threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Huh?" Jack asked mockingly from atop his balanced staff. "Didn't _quite _catch that." He cupped a hand to his ear as if straining to hear. He wasn't watching his friend anymore, even if he was floating right in front of his face to ensure being seen. Blue eyes searched houses below, looking for the little black-haired girl's window. With a contemplative look on his face, he shoved his fellow Guardian out of the way to continue his hunt.

"We have to go back," he said decidedly, suddenly serious. Swiftly his sandy companion covered his field of vision, waving his hands back and forth, a small pyrotechnic show and circles with slashes through them danced over his head. Clearly, 'going back' was a Guardian no-no. There were too many of those to count, and Jack found most of them meaningless anyway, so he disregarded the flamboyant gesture and hopped of his staff, catching it in his hand as he began to blow away.

The roof lit up, a golden wall inches from Jack's face as he skidded—can you skid while flying?—to a stop. Touch it, and he'd be knocked out again, which only meant more time lost and a double-headache. Whirling around, the petite teenager found three additional walls and, hey, look at that: a roof atop a roof. Go figure. The Sandman hovered behind him at eyelevel with his hands firmly on his hips.

"Sandy," Jack ground out between his teeth. "We don't have the time for this. That little girl…please," he begged, gesturing to the wall. "We have to help her. Who knows what that…man." _Monster,_ he mentally corrected himself. "Who knows what that man is doing to her as we just _sit _here—"

Sandy cut him off with a signal, putting on a nightcap, using his hands as an impromptu pillow, Z's of every size floating upwards and dissipating before they had the chance to hit the ceiling.

"They're asleep?" Jack confirmed. Sandy nodded. The walls around them exploded lightly and glittered out of existence. The Guardian of fun wasn't exactly trusted, as golden fingers curled around the frozen fabric of Jack's hoodie like a tether.

Jack was on a slippery slope, so to speak, and the wrong articulation would land him face-first on the cement, dreaming of snow angels and glaciers. He chose his words carefully. "He'll wake up. He's going to wake up and probably blame her for not closing the window." The Sandman looked exhausted and sad, even dipping a little in height. "I'm a Guardian now." His pale lips didn't only form the words, but he felt conviction behind them, like a snowball rolling down a hill, always gaining momentum. "So let me _guard_ this girl."

Sandy, obviously at a loss for pictures and anxiously glancing at the continuously-rising moon—he had a job that needed to be done before morning—he pointed northward and what looked like a barbershop pole appeared. His eyes were pleading.

"But…" The mischievous little sprite looked dismayed. "But what if something happens before I get back…" A small crease formed between his eyebrows and he stared intently at the ground. A dream-clock appeared where he watched, surrounded by more Z's and the hands were spinning. Counting along, Jack noticed that they stopped at seven am.

"They'll sleep until then?" Another nod from the Sandman. "'Kay, Sandy," he said, grumpily. "I'll go talk to North, but no promises after that."

His friend didn't look happy, but didn't protest (that Jack saw) as the thin boy leapt into the air, top speed to an unsuspecting Santa's Workshop.

**A/N: I know, I know, not a lot happened in this chapter. If you'd like to see me go somewhere with this story, please comment and let me know! I've got no real vision, my hands just type away and whatever happens, happens. I'd love to hear what you want to read. Comments of any kind are helpful. Tell me what I can do better!?**


	3. Workshop Chat

**A/N: I had the absolute hardest time writing this, so sorry about the delay. Please note, I **_**tried.**_** I think it may still be a little OOC, but I tried to work through it. The writer's block was killer. I'd also like to thank everyone who's reviewed; I can't even tell you how much it meant to me. Thanks for reading, reviews are welcomed and appreciated!**

* * *

If it had been quiet, the large mahogany door would have echoed a creak loudly through the bulky hall. As it was, however, various creatures hurried about. Bells jingled from atop the elves' heads as they darted to and fro, and yetis shouted orders and directed chaos in their own dialect.

Above all, North's booming tenor resounded off the walls. Jack walked forward, one hand balled into a determined fist and the other holding his staff as he swung his arms. The theatrics were wasted, as St. Nick wasn't even facing him. Giving up on that escapade, he began to trail the crook of his staff behind him, creating a frozen path of elf feet and worktables in his wake. A massive Russian in a soft red coat turned when they were still fifteen meters apart.

"North," Jack called clearly before the other had a chance to, like, hug him or something, using his staff to spin and tangle up a nearby marionette. Normally, hugs from North were fine as long as he had a little warning, and he could handle simple gestures from the others. A hand on the shoulder, maybe. He wasn't an awkward teenage boy that didn't understand or want physical affection, but a spirit that had been walked through for three hundred years. He was sure he'd get used to it eventually, but now wasn't the time, and he made sure his face showed it.

North's eyes, delighted as a child's, met Jack's and he beamed, oblivious to the staidness of his young friend's demeanor. Then again, maybe not. There was no hug.

"Jack Frost!" he bellowed pleasantly. "To what do I owe visit?"

Jack sort of squared his shoulders to the Guardian who did nothing to even try and conceal his amused smile. Icy blue eyes flashed and Jack opened his mouth without hesitation—he'd spent the flight up thinking of, revising, and memorizing what he'd say.

"Sandy sent me to have a talk with you."

Okay, he was no Antony, but Jack was hoping to get his point across.

Santa Clause's laugh rang out like sleigh bells and he walked forward, through the wall of yetis and elves trying to get his attention. North chuckled in the assumption that his mischievous young friend had done something to annoy the Sandman. He was also impressed, the dream-spinner rarely got impatient, especially where Jack was concerned.

"Come now, then," North encouraged. "What is it you've done?"

"Ahh." Jack hopped onto the head of a rocking horse and balanced there in a crouch, trying very hard to meet North's eyes. Eyes that were narrowing with suspicion.

"Jack…" the big man prompted, suddenly worried. The boy usually didn't hesitate to share his antics with North, so it must have been _bad._

"I froze someone's door shut," Jack admitted hurriedly, getting on with his oration as his eyes finally found North's wonder-filled blue ones. North's expression softened, and Jack continued with guilt. "And then I tried to strangle him."

North was silent for no more than two seconds, but it was enough to completely terrify Jack. In that moment, Jack convinced himself that North would find a way to take away his title of Guardian, or—

"Come and have a seat," he said finally, his voice low.

"Uh, I'm already…" Jack trailed off as North turned tail and started toward his personal office. _Sitting. I'm already sitting. _Instead he planted his staff on the ground and swung off the horse's head.

The term 'dead man walking' resounded through his ringing head all the way there, but sitting in an armchair across North's desk as he shut the door behind them wasn't much better.

"He hit her," Jack spit out as North opened his mouth. It slid shut again and his beefy fingers drummed in anticipation. "His daughter," Jack amended. "He was yelling at her, then he slapped her, and she started _bleeding, _North. I went right though, but…" His eyes slid to the wreath hanging on the front of St. Nick's cluttered desk. He tapped it with his staff, frosting over the pine needles. "Sandy didn't do anything, and he wasn't going to either..."

The drumming sound had stopped by now, and when Jack looked up he found North's countenance to be strikingly similar to Sandy's outside the window earlier. He looked sorry and guilty but resigned. Resignation was the straw threatening to break Jack's back right now.

"We're Guardians!" Jack yelled, gesturing with his staff for emphasis as a sharp draft appeared in the room.

"Be calm, Jack Frost," North said gently. He stood and walked partly around the table to absently tinker with a windup drummer-boy on the edge. "You are upset with decisions made hundreds of years before were born."

"Hundreds of years ago," Jack interrupted, nearly growling, "you decided to do nothing but _watch_ as kids are abused?"

North chuckled, the sound remorseful. "What institutes abuse today was commonplace even when you were human. Do not blow situation out of proportion."

"Not that," Jack grumbled, remembering what that sicko had said. "Not what he was going to do. She was so young, and you can't expect me to sit by and do _nothing."_ His voice got louder and louder as he ranted on. "For someone here to protect the wonder and dreams in kids' hearts, you guys are awfully willing to look the other way."

The elder Guardian sighed and put a colossal hand on Jacks shoulder, kneeling down to eyelevel. "Every Guardian used to make own rules for dealing with such evil people." Jack calmed hearing that he wasn't the only one who noticed the wickedness of such things. He'd been starting to think that they were all so old that they were callously used to it. "Bunny in particular was…strict, while Tooth tried to fix everybody's problems silently." North was lost in reverie for a moment, before squeezing Jack's shoulder firmly. "Was inconsistent. More often than not, children were scared of Guardians, or people thought children were guilty of damages inflicted from us. Children can start relying on us, blaming everything bad on us not preventing." North shrugged. "Man in Moon finally called enough, enough…" He stood up again and wandered to the picture window showing yetis the main workshop below. "When you interfered, was little girl grateful?"

"I don't know," he replied, turning in his seat to keep North in his vision. Growing uncomfortable, he readjusted himself to stooping on the back of his chair. "Sandy put them to sleep. He said they'll stay like that 'til morning." North starting to stroke his beard thoughtfully.

"Interesting. Sandy is giving time for you to figure out alternative, and I agree. Question is, what will you do, Jack Frost?"

Frustration stretched his mind in ten different directions, but Jack didn't say anything. The question was designed to make him _think._ After a minute, he looked up and locked eyes with an expectant North St. Nicolas.

_ "We,"_ Jack began with emphasis, "are going to figure it out." A slow, determined smirk pulled at his lips to reveal sparkling white teeth and his eyes glinted like a frozen lake.


	4. The Rabbit Hole

**A/N: Okay, so I had the hardest time getting this out, but I found an extra reserve of inspiration tonight, sitting on the floor between dance classes. The chapters are getting longer and longer…not sure if that's a good or bad thing. But I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! And enter, Bunnymund! (also, I had way too much fun researching Australian slang. Try it sometime!)**

Bunnymund was called to the North Pole in the middle of the night, and_ not _happy about it. Even worse, Frostbite was behind it. Over the past two years he'd received more than one 'emergency' call from the fun-loving spirit, none of which had ended well for Bunny. It was far from impossible to fathom that Jack had gotten North to play along, or had tricked the big guy.

His soured attitude had remedied itself as the situation was explained. Frost shifted in Bunny's eyes yet again, shimmering like a mirage in desert. The gloves were off, the pretenses gone. Jack _was _in fact a headstrong, mischievous imp that had no problems causing trouble and leaving behind echoing laughs in his wake, but when you boiled him down a little you got a fiercely protective Guardian that carried strong resentment for detriment caused to children. It wasn't hypocritical either, not exactly. Sure, Jack Frost could be harmful, but it usually wasn't on purpose. When it was, it was for fun, lighthearted pranks that were _typically _easily remedied, and, when they weren't, it was because something had gone wrong.

Bunny didn't hide his smug smile at Jack's reaction to the situation. On this issue at least, they seemed to be seeing eye-to-eye. Many of the different immortal spirits held an array of attitudes toward the matter, especially a case like the one described currently as not only verbal, but physical and even sexual abuse. E. Aster Bunny had been more toward the…bellicose end of the spectrum. Mostly though, he used scare tactics to try and make something change. Usually, he'd only manage to make the children fear him. The only thing their abusive parents were scared of was someone finding out that they were insane and locking them up. Other spirits were still allowed to behave as they wished, without regulation, but Guardians had to have certain guidelines, protocol, if you will. For children to be afraid of the Big Four was no good for anyone but Pitch.

Jack's eyes glinted with the determination of an adult and the eagerness of a child, still proving him a teenager after all those years of isolation, as he awaited Bunny's response. Bunnymund also saw something that could only be described as _reformation_ burning behind the icy walls of his irises. Things were changing fast since the Spirit of Winter became part of the group. Before the battle with Pitch, the Guardians got together only when emergency made it necessary. And now with Jack, who'd been alone for such a long time, they got together periodically, almost like a family. Sometimes for a big dinner in North's large dining hall with the table for thirty, or other times for meetings, and they'd even spend holidays together if it wasn't one of theirs. They all told themselves feebly that it was for Jack's sake, that as a child he needed a sense of unity and people to go to when he got into a situation, but in truth, they all sort of loved it. Bunnymund couldn't comprehend how they'd gotten so far before, only bumping to one another on occasion.

That aside, Jack was undoubtedly changing things. His perspective was matchless, and Bunny—as well as Manny—knew that if anyone could solve the centuries old dilemma that struck them time and time again, it was the frosty kid.

"So, mate," a corner of Bunny's mouth tugged up in a smile, making his whiskers twitch, "what's the plan?"

Jack's gears stuck a bit and his eyes widened. Finally, with a tightening grip on his staff, he chuckled just a bit too lightly. "Whoa whoa whoa, what'd you mean? 'What's the plan?'" He shook his head, as if explaining something to a small child. "That's what you're here for."  
"Ah, no it ain't," Bunny retorted.

"Oh, come on! That's not fair. You already came on up here, the least you could do was _try _to help," Jack grumbled, obviously becoming annoyed as a bare foot scuffed the ground.

"I _am_ here to help, ya lil' bugger," Bunny said threateningly. Jack was the only person he'd ever met that could annoy and amuse him simultaneously. "But if my way worked, it would be in practice and you wouldn't need my help at all." Realization flashed over the boy's pale face like a moment of unguarded pain might. "Go ahead, give it a burl."

Jack waved Bunny off with a flick of his wrist as he meandered to the panoramic window, looking out thoughtfully to the howling wind and snow that had followed him there. "Give me a minute then, jeez." Bunny and North couldn't help but share a fond smile as the younger Guardian stroked a nonexistent beard.

Jack Frost, the Spirit of Winter, rider of the Winds, was clueless. He was probably the only Guardian that got kids, knew how they though, what they liked, what they did when they were bored or angry or content. Adults were a foreign concept to him though. He'd never needed to observe them before, for he'd never become one, and he had no desire. The majority of them were dull and boring. Or even just cruel like this one. All the things that disinterested the otherwise-curious spirit.

"Well," he stalled, a little ashamed at his own ignorance. "How do kids normally get themselves out of this type of situation?"

North took a deep breath. "Sometimes, they do not," he explained, gazing through the same window as Jack, from a greater distance. The temperature dropped in the cluttered room despite the roaring flames in the fireplace as Jack bristled. With an easy step forward and a grace inconsistent with his size, North laid a hand on the teenager's shoulder before the word 'unfair' could even cross his lips. "And sometimes, they find grown up to handle."

Seeing his and North's reflection in the window only made Jack angrier, reminding him that he had a loving… family (was it okay to call the Guardians his family?) when other kids, much younger than three hundred years old were conditioned to dealing with such hurtful injustice. He shrugged the hand off and turned back to the room, seeing the real images of North St. Nicholas and E. Aster Bunny.

"Then all we have to do is get some adult to help her, right?" Jack asked, his face brightening and hope tainting the words.

Pooka ears flattened against a furry neck and Bunnymund's jaw was clenched so tight that Jack thought he could see the tendons standing out through his grey coat. He looked at the floor for a long time, and North simply watched his old friend sadly. Silent. North was being silent, which meant business. Santa almost always made noise of some sort. It baffled everyone when Jack went to the North Pole in loneliness, but they chalked it up to the father/son relationship they had going. Jack knew that the Russian was normally too busy to do much more than give him a room and some free food, but it was the noise that kept him around. Even when they didn't speak two words to each other, North's presence was undeniable and concrete and it reminded Jack that _he wasn't alone._ And as long as North was around to tinker with toys and order around Yetis and eat cookies that got crumbs caught in his beard, well, then he wouldn't ever be alone.

Bunny looked up again, and Jack saw—much to his horror—a hint of the same resignation on his face then as he'd gotten from North and Sandy, though it was mixed with misery and cindering fury. The misery was foreign to Jack, but he identified with ire, he could work with it.

"It's not quite that easier either, mate," he said slowly, as if they were words he'd memorized and chanted over and over. "Lots o' countries don't care or have systems in place for such kids. The ones that do…" The tension left his ears and they floated up, limply. "They're too slow, mate. They're too slow."

Completely shocked by the Guardian of Hope's despondent stance, Jack's eyes shot to North's. His wondering eyes looked ancient and sad.

"Bunny tried that. Once." North turned on the oversized rabbit and set him with an apologetic look. "Parent thought the child had ratted them out. They got angry…"

Jack glanced back and forth between the two elder Guardians, his stomach doing a weird heating, churning thing.

"She bloody killed the kid!" Bunny exploded so suddenly that Jack suddenly jerked ramrod straight and North made a halfhearted attempt to step forward and comfort the Pooka. "I got involved, and instead of sleepless nights, he's _dead. _She drowned him in a bathtub!" His eyes flashed boldly. "So unless you can think up a way to do it _better_, stay out of it." The respect was still there. At least, in Bunny's mind. Jack could do it, he _had to_, and Bunny was just letting him know: the situation could be dire. As he warranted his harsh behavior, his eyes still burned at a heartbroken-looking Jack. Heartbroken and…sick.

Jack Frost _thought _he was going to be sick for sure, and he stumbled backwards, away from Bunny's searing green eyes and positioned himself conveniently by a garbage can. After an unbearably uncomfortable and nauseating silence, North took up Bunny's point with a lighter tone, more supportive than demanding.

"What will it be, Jack Frost?" he asked, not for the sake of being harsh, but for the girl that was asleep on the floor now, next to her father, running out of time. "Still judging our decision of doing 'nothing'?"

Jack swallowed the rising bile before it could freeze in his esophagus. A hint of a smile played at the edges of his lips and a segment of shock-white hair fell into his eyes, giving him a mischievous edge as he snapped back to himself.

"Oh yeah," he said, nodding. "It was a ridiculous ruling, and stupid, if you don't mind me saying so." As Bunny was about to say that he did indeed mind Jack saying so, the boy vaulted off his staff and clung to the window, hand itching to unlatch it. "And as for that plan, Bunnymund, I'm going to do exactly what you did." Bunny's face darkened and Jack started in before he could speak. "The only difference is that we're going to do it better." He nodded toward the window, and his finger unhooked the lock, letting an icy blast throw it open and put out the cozy fire North had lit. "We know what happened last time, you know what to expect." Earnestness took over Jack's face and he asked the Easter Bunny with every fiber of himself that he could put into the words "But for that, I need your help, Bunny."

Jack knew that Easter would be in a few months, but for now all that the bunny could prepare were chocolates and paper grass because, as he loved-loved-loved to inform the others, he worked with _perishables,_ so it wasn't like his Guardian duties were keeping him away from it. Hell, this was his Guardian duty.

"Gladly," he said, calmer than before and regaining some of the control of his ears as they perked up with resolution. Actually, he began to look smug….

Smirking? Jack was about to comment when the Pooka's weight shifted, left foot hovering above the ground with an air of superiority.

Jack mentally cursed as it hit the floor twice, shifting the tiles underfoot, and flung him from his perch on the wall to tumble down the rabbit hole.


End file.
